


The Thief

by likeatumbleweed



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Contest Entry, Contest Winner, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki's Dirty Whispers Winter 2014 Fanfiction Contest, Manipulative Loki, Sexual Content, Smut, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:59:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeatumbleweed/pseuds/likeatumbleweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You, a palace kitchen maid (and petty crook) of Asgard, attempt to steal from Prince Loki, and temporarily get much more than you bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thief

**Author's Note:**

> Winner of Loki's Dirty Whispers 2014 fanfic contest on Tumblr. Asterisks indicate "whispers" used from LDW.
> 
> Many, many thanks to LaTessitrice and einarsdatter for the beta services - any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Your first victim was a fellow kitchen maid. The prize was a silk hair ribbon; the crime effortless, but ultimately unsatisfying. Since then, your collection of pilfered items has grown, and with it, your ambition.

For weeks after, fellow palace workers lost everything from books and personal letters to pocket knives and lockets to your nimble fingers. When that became too dull, you moved on to the Einherjar, thinking the finest warriors of Asgard would prove more of a challenge. But the strongest are not always the smartest; easily swayed by your feminine charm, three of them have now unknowingly yielded small bits of armor to the trunk at the foot of your bed.

Stealing from those less clever than you is quickly losing its appeal; instead, you have now set your sights on Asgard’s greatest conceivable target.

There isn’t anyone in the realm more deceitful, cunning, and tricky than Prince Loki; to take something from _him_ – especially from his personal chambers – would be the pinnacle of your conquests.

You’ve waited weeks for the perfect opportunity, discreetly observing Prince Loki’s habits so as not to tip him off to your intentions.

Quiet and astute, he fades into the background so easily around Thor. At first you thought it must upset him, to be so overlooked, but you have come to understand that he _prefers_ it that way. Overlooked means underestimated, and underestimation breeds complacency in those around him. It’s something you understand intimately, as they are the exact traits that have served you so well in your own endeavors.

In another time, in another place and with equal rank, you think he might have admired you and your audacity.

The last four mornings, despite having slept soundly and dreamlessly, you have awakened strangely exhausted. You chalk it up to nerves; what you are attempting is by far the biggest risk you’ve ever undertaken. Success is essential. You don’t want to consider what might happen to you if you are caught.

Tonight, you watch him at dinner as discreetly as possible. He has had more wine than usual, and as a result, his ordinarily reserved and observant manner is more sociable. Even a few of his brother’s crude jokes – which on any other day would earn no more than a scornful look from the younger prince – are met with laughter.

Oh yes… _now_ is the perfect time. 

You feign an upset stomach, and your kitchen mistress is more than willing to allow you to leave your duties early. You have been such a model worker, always punctual and reliable, and she has no reason to think you are being less than truthful. And if she never discovers that you are the culprit behind her missing silver hairclip? Well, why would her opinion of you ever change?

The corridors are auspiciously deserted as you sneak away, not to the servants’ quarters, but to the wing of the palace that houses the royal family’s apartments. You have prepared an excuse for your presence if you are caught – that you are ill and made an honest mistake under duress – but no one stops you.

You hesitate for only a moment once you reach Prince Loki’s chambers – not because you are having second thoughts about taking from him, but because you fear any magical traps he might have set to discourage wrongdoers. Your uncertainty is short-lived, however; to turn back now so close to your goal would be unthinkable.

You hold your breath and reach out…and the door handle is no more than cold metal beneath your palm. With a sigh of relief you swing the door in soundlessly, slipping in as easily as water through a sieve. Once inside, you rest against the closed doors, taking in your surroundings and searching for the perfect prize.

His rooms are not what you imagined; you expected dark stone, and surfaces littered with dust-covered volumes and bubbling potions and half-burned candles. Instead, his chambers are bright and airy, meticulously organized and well kept. There is a fire burning in his hearth, lending a glow to the room that is completely at odds with the cold face he puts forward in public. You wonder briefly which is the real prince, and which is the artifice; is he emotionless and calculating, or warm and caring?

You resign yourself to the fact that you will likely never know.

One more glance around, and you make your way to what appears to be a large wardrobe, hoping to find a small bit of clothing that you can abscond with easily. Your search proves fruitful; there is a beautiful pair of black leather riding gloves sticking out of a jacket just inside. You pull one free, taking care to leave one behind. Stealing both is too risky; a single missing glove could more easily be attributed to carelessness instead of theft.

You can’t help but fit your hand into the glove, wondering at the fact that it comes nowhere near to filling it. This glove was custom fit to the prince’s hand; years of use have molded the leather to each knuckle and fingertip, and your stomach flutters when you realize just how long his fingers must be, the places on your body – _in_ your body – he would be able to reach with ease.

You raise your hand to your nose, closing your eyes and breathing in the glove’s scent. It would be a shame for it to rot away in the chest at the foot of your bed, a priceless jewel amongst worthless rubbish. You decide to keep it in your bed with you, tucked away inside your pillow case and within easy reach.

Perhaps you will even wear it again, using it the next time you pleasure yourself, imagining it’s Loki’s hand and not your own as your bring yourself to release. Your body trembles at the thought; successfully stealing from people always leaves you aroused, but this theft in particular has you so worked up you can barely see straight.

You slip your hand down past your lips, down your neck and into the valley between your breasts. You are totally alone – what would it hurt to start your nocturnal activities a little early? 

You ruck your skirt up and tease the fingers of the glove across the edge of your undergarments. Picturing the prince in your head as you slide the leather beneath the fabric, you imagine his eyes wide and his hair in disarray as you brush your finger across your clit. Your body jolts in anticipation, your breath shallow and erratic…when an unexpected voice stops you cold.

[“Aren’t you just a clever little thing?”](http://lokis-dirty-whispers.tumblr.com/post/64897217941/submission-arent-you-just-a-clever-little) _*_

You spin on your feet with a gasp, throwing the glove aside with a shouted curse. It is caught midair before your skirt has even resettled around your ankles, by an obscure shape in a shadow, a shape that looks an awful lot like… _no, that’s not possible_.

“B-but, I _saw_ you. In the dining hall – not ten minutes ago!”

“Ah, not me I’m afraid,” says Prince Loki, stepping from the dark. “Merely an illusion cast on a stable boy. He eats like a prince for a night, while I _attempt_ to enjoy my solitude.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest, panic rooting you to the spot as he steps closer. “Why did you stop?” he asks. “I was so enjoying your little show.” He raises the glove to his nose, a small groan escaping his throat as he smells you on it.  

“Your Highness, forgive me…I-I…” Your voice is stammering as hard as the heartbeats in your chest, your body warring between the urge to pass out and wanting to retch from fear. You try your hardest to do neither as he approaches you.

["Have I made you want to touch yourself tonight? All alone in your room, completely naked, pumping your little fingers pretending it’s me deep inside you? Tell me."](http://lokis-dirty-whispers.tumblr.com/post/63497949294/submission-have-i-made-you-want-to-touch) _*_

His voice washes over you, as soothing as the deep water of a lake, and just as dangerous. One wrong move and if you’re lucky, you will be spending eternity in the dungeons of Asgard, discarded and forgotten like so much rubbish. You decide that right now, honesty is your closest friend.

“Y-yes, Your Highness. Please, I meant no harm.”

“You sneak into my chambers...if not to harm me, then why?”

“I just…I just wanted... _something_ …”

“Something that doesn’t belong to you?” He steps closer. “And just how do you wish for me to… _punish_ this transgression?” he asks, running one finger down your neck to push the sleeve of your gown from your shoulder. “Shall I hazard a guess?”

You only thought you were aroused before.   

A tiny whimper escapes you – not of fear, but of lust – and his smile widens. He takes your hand and leads you to the sofa in front of the fire.

“Is this what you desire, my little scoundrel?” He waves a hand, and two bodies appear, slowly taking shape and becoming corporeal. Your heart stops as you recognize them – one is an exact replica of you, completely nude, hair unbound and spread across the arm of the couch, eyes rolled back in ecstasy. Her legs are open wide to accommodate the head of the other form, this one a half-dressed duplicate of Prince Loki himself, his large hands pressed into the flesh of your copy’s thighs as his lips slide languidly between her sodden folds.

["Close your eyes and think of my tongue pushing deep inside your tight cunt.”](http://lokis-dirty-whispers.tumblr.com/post/44499213176/submission-close-your-eyes-and-think-of-my) You do as he asks, your body shuddering. [“Yes. That’s it. Shiver for me; let the thought consume you. Now, beg for it."](http://lokis-dirty-whispers.tumblr.com/post/44499213176/submission-close-your-eyes-and-think-of-my)*

You are caught in a strange combination of terror and mortification and stimulation, certain that if he would but touch you, he could bring you to the fastest and most intense orgasm of your life. Your voice refuses to cooperate however, and the prince sighs unhappily.

Leaving the illusion intact, he pulls you over to his bed and waves his hand again. A new scene appears; now, Loki’s copy has yours on all fours in the center of the bed, your face hidden in the cushions as he drives into you from behind, his movements as graceful as ever, even as he sets a merciless tempo.

Everything about the image before you is perfect, no detail less than flawless – from the moans and cries of pleasure to the glisten of your skin as your arousal flows forth, coating his substantial length and dripping down your thighs. You swear you can actually feel it, the moisture of your skin, when you realize the spectacle you’re watching has caused you to soak through your undergarments. 

You rake your gaze over the prince’s naked form, admiring the sinuous movement of his body, the way the muscles in his backside and thighs flex and pull with each thrust. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward to touch him, but your hand passes through the image without resistance.

The very real, very solid prince is at your ear, his breath hot as he whispers to you. [“Do you want this, pet? Your head buried in the pillows, muffling your ravenous screams, your hands pawing helplessly at the tangle of sheets as you search for purchase, your knees digging deep into the bed as I claw at your hips, pulling you onto my rigid cock as your aching cunt meets my hilt - over and over? Tell me you want it.”](http://lokis-dirty-whispers.tumblr.com/post/46629800895/submission-do-you-want-this-pet-your-head)*

He punctuates the last of his words by grabbing you by the waist and grinding into your backside, and you cannot suppress your whine. If what you feel behind you – even through all the layers of your combined clothing – is any indication, his copy has not been altered or exaggerated from reality in the slightest.

Your tenuous grasp on control is slipping, the desperate need building to give in, to beg him to rip the dress from your body and take you as roughly as he likes, but your powers of speech have utterly abandoned you. You remain quiet – to his great consternation.

["I see you are distracted by the evidence of my desire for you,"](http://lokis-dirty-whispers.tumblr.com/post/60085784429/submission-i-see-you-are-distracted-by-the) _*_ he says. “You need only ask, and you will have all you want and more.”

Still, the words won’t come, and the growl of anger and frustration in your ear startles you.

“Is this not enough for you, foolish girl? Does this alone not satisfy the depravity of your mind?” He spins you once again, his hand coming forward from around you, and more images appear. “Then what of this? Is _this_ what you crave from me?”

Your breath ceases as the sight unfolds – your twin is now kneeling before the prince’s copy as he stands beside his desk, his hand fisted into her hair as he fucks her mouth. Tears roll down your duplicate’s cheeks, her body a map of bite marks and handprints, every sound she tries to make choked off by a perfectly timed thrust down her throat – and yet, her hands grip his thighs and her eyes sparkle with lust, even if her painfully stretched lips cannot manage a smile.

“Just look at you,” says the voice at your side, “so thoroughly debauched and used…and loving every second of it.”

“Please…”

“What’s that? Have you finally found your voice, my little thief?”

“Please,” you say again. “I want…I want you…”

“Then you shall have me.”

His tone causes something inside of you to snap, and you turn on your heels, fingers unbuttoning the front of your dress with haste. He stops you after the third clasp.

“No. Go slowly. Eyes on me.”

You do as he asks, your hands trembling as you undo the last of the buttons and push your dress down from your body as sensually as you can manage. The sounds of sex still surround you, as Loki is somehow maintaining your duplicates throughout the room, and it spurs you on. Your hunger for him is all-consuming, pushing you far past any worry about decency and decorum.

Hooking your fingers into the top of your undergarments, you slide them slowly down your legs, keeping your eyes locked on his as he demanded. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, an involuntary reflex, and a thrill courses through you to elicit that kind of reaction in him. You stand once again, completely exposed and ready for the taking, awaiting his next instructions. You don’t have to wait long.

“Now, come here and undress me.”

You step forward, silently thankful that he’s wearing only a simple tunic and breeches rather than his customary complicated armor. You are reaching for the hem of his shirt when his hands strike out as quickly as a viper, tightening around your wrists.

“I could snap your neck right now,” he says, and there is no humor in his voice. “Does that frighten you?”

“Yes,” you answer truthfully.

“Is there anyone to miss you? Anyone at all to grieve over a lost scullery maid?”

“No,” you say, slightly alarmed when your arousal spikes even higher. You might be dead before the night is done, and all you can focus on is getting the prince inside of you before that can happen. It would be a marvelous way to go.

“What a pity,” he says. “Please me well then, and I may yet allow you to live and find _someone_ to love you.”

His hands relax and you get back to your task, pulling his tunic over his head and off his body. He has never had his brother’s bulk, but as you take in his lithe and muscular form, you understand what a grave mistake it would be to think Loki weak.

You lower your eyes to his breeches; perhaps he’s never had Thor’s substance, but if what appears to lie beneath his pants is any indication, Loki surely surpasses even his brother where it counts. You make quick work of the laces, peeling the fabric away and down his legs. He doesn’t move to aid you at all, forcing you to bend at the waist to continue undressing him; at this angle, his cock – long and thick and as purple as a day old bruise – is a mere breath away from your mouth. There is no hesitation in you; you grasp the base and slide your lips over the head, swiping your tongue across its leaking tip and savoring the musky flavor.

He groans loudly, and you begin to move your head in earnest, attempting with each pass to take more of him into your mouth, if only to hear that delightful groan once more. You slip your hand between your thighs, hoping to ease your own ache even as you service him, but this is a mistake. No sooner have your fingers breached your body than he grasps your hair in his fist, pulling you away from him roughly.

“I told you, please _me_ well. I said nothing about your own pleasure.” He reaches forward, pulling your fingers free of your body and sucking them into his mouth. “By the heavens, you are divine. Taste for yourself.”

He loosens his hold in your hair just long enough to pull you to him, covering your mouth with his. As he kisses you, he simultaneously lowers you to the floor; you hiss at the cold wood beneath your back, even as you eagerly spread your legs for him. He settles between them, pushing into you with sureness bred from long experience; your lungs constrict as your body stretches to fit him, the sensation dancing on the edge of discomfort.

“Do remember to breathe, darling,” he says as he seats himself fully within you. “I can’t be bothered with disposing of a body tonight.” You gulp in air at his admonition, just enough to expel it once more in a long moan as he starts to move within you. You are far from a blushing virgin, but he is quite unlike any other man you’ve ever had, pushing your body to its very limits of accommodation.

“How do I feel?” he asks. “Tell me.”

“ _Magnificent_ ,” you manage, your voice no more than a whisper. He braces himself on his elbows and thrusts deep and hard, and you cry out.

The drag of skin across skin is delicious agony, pushing you right to the brink of oblivion. You snake your hand between your bodies, desperate for that extra stimulation, that extra pressure to bring you relief.

“Even now, you cannot keep your hands to yourself,” he says, increasing his pace. “By all means, go ahead. I’m nearly finished anyway.”

It has been far too long since you had a man inside of you, and the instant your fingers find their mark you are swept away, your hips bucking wildly and your muscles seizing up around him. Three long thrusts more and with a sound that is half grunt and half gasp, he swells and spills into you.

There is a cacophony of noise from the illusions surrounding you, a wordless chorus of voices and cries to accompany the two of you through your bliss, so many you don’t know what is real and what is only illusory. As the clamor fades and you come back to yourself, you realize all the duplicates have disappeared, leaving only you and the real prince behind.

“Your Highness,” you manage between shaky breaths, “if this was your idea of a punishment, then I beg of you…tell me how I may earn a _reward_ at your hands.”

He looks down on you, eyes wide and hair in disarray just as you imagined, and he smiles – a smile not of happiness or affection or even hard-won admiration, but of _victory_.

“ _This_ was not your punishment, you naïve girl,” he says, pulling himself from your body to stand up. A graceful sweep of his arm, and he is once again fully clothed and impeccable, leaving you to remain on the floor, your legs still spread and his seed cooling on your skin as it leaks from your body. The contrast is acute, and you push your knees together in embarrassment.

Loki chuckles, the sound dark and foreboding. “Oh, we’re well beyond the need for false modesty, don’t you think?”

He makes no attempt to assist you as you rise from the floor, watching you carefully as you gather your clothing and dress in silence. Perhaps _this_ is your punishment – his scrutiny and judgment of how far he’s pushed you, how easily you’ve fallen in his presence. You manage to keep your hands from shaking too badly as you button the front of your dress under his watchful gaze – but you go still as you reach the top clasp.

The image of your duplicate flashes in your mind – every scar and blemish on your skin reproduced to the finest detail…and it hits you. _You were still fully clothed when he –_

“Wait,” you gasp. “How did you know?”

“Know what?” he asks, his face perfectly innocent.

“The image you created of me – it was far too accurate. Only one who had seen me in that state before could have achieved it.”

Loki snorts a sharp laugh through his noise, whether from derision or actual humor, you can’t tell. “It seems you’ve caught me.”

“What do you mean?” Your eyes go wide with fright. “Have you…have you been _spying_ on me? Sneaking into my chambers? Cloaking yourself and hiding in the servant’s bathhouse like a voyeur?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he says, and his voice is cold. “I am a prince of this realm, powerful beyond measure – but I have no desire to take anything that isn’t willfully given. And you, my little thief, have been _very_ willing. Every time.”

“Every time?” That makes no sense – you’ve never been within twenty feet of the prince in your life, and he speaks as though his intimate knowledge of you extends beyond this evening alone. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but you’ve only ever bedded me this once.”

“Bedded? As I recall,” he says, nodding to the wood beneath your feet, “I took you on the floor. But indeed – your back _has_ felt the cushions of my bed, your elbows the surface of my desk, and your knees the rug that lies before my sofa. As a matter of fact, you would be hard pressed to find a place in these chambers that _hasn’t_ seen you speared on my cock like a wanton whore.”

“No,” you say, “I would remember.”

“Ah, but you wouldn’t,” he says. There is a glint of regret in his eyes, almost imperceptible, but then he blinks and it is gone. “ _This_ is your punishment.”

He circles you, his steps measured and slow. “For five nights now, you have attempted to steal from me, and each time I have been waiting for you. I see your mind – you seek more than a trinket from my chambers, more than some souvenir of our time together. You seek my affection – the one thing that cannot be stolen from me. And the one thing _you_ will never have.”

“But you caught me, Your Highness. I’ve stolen nothing.”

“You have stolen my time, but worse than that, I have allowed you to see me at my most vulnerable. Take from me, and I am then compelled to take from you; as you have nothing of material value to me, it must suffice that I take something even more precious…your memories of me at my weakest.”

He stops in front of you, tilting his head and regarding you as no more than another subject to be observed. To your surprise, he reaches out and pulls you close, and your limp body offers no resistance. For one fleeting moment, his features go soft as he dips his head to kiss you. As his lips touch yours, warmth spreads through your body, otherworldly and foreign, and you blink your eyes open to see the two of you enveloped in a shimmering haze of smoke.

He pulls back, keeping his arms about your waist as the smoke dissipates. “I’ve left no evidence of this encounter. The finest healers in Asgard could inspect you from head to toe and find you completely unsullied and unspoiled,” he says, and even as he speaks you can feel the truth of his words on your body.

“You will leave these chambers with no memory of _this_ tryst or any that came before, and I will be no more to you than a distant fantasy, an unapproachable specter to haunt your dreams at night. But know this,” he continues, tracing the lines of your face with the backs of his fingers, “no other will ever satisfy your body the way I have. No partner you take to bed – man, woman, or even your own troublesome hand – will ever fill the emptiness I’ve created in you…a void that will follow you to the gates of Valhalla itself.”   

Your tears burn as they roll unbidden down your cheeks. “Your Highness, please. You cannot be so cruel. Let me earn your forgiveness.” Your voice is desperate, pleading – but it gains you no sympathy.

“My cruelty is only ever well-earned,” he says. “Nevertheless, I have grown weary of this game.” He steps away from you, and the doors to his chambers swing open of their own volition. He nods toward them, indicating you should leave. You walk toward the threshold, mustering just enough courage to hold your head high, turning back as you walk through the doorway.

“I won’t forget this,” you say, as if your willpower alone will make it true.

“Oh, my dear,” he says. “You already have.”

You close your eyes as the doors swing shut –

\- and you blink them open in confusion.

You are in the royal family’s private wing, your cheeks wet with tears, standing outside the doors of Prince Loki’s chambers with no memory of how you got there.

The doors open before you can get your bearings and hurry away, and the prince himself is standing before you, tall and imperious and so sharply handsome you nearly forget your manners in your flustered state. You manage an unsteady, silent curtsy.   

He looks you over, his gaze raking across your form so slowly your breath stops. “You’re far from home, little one,” he says. “The kitchens are that way.”

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” you say. “I wasn’t feeling well. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere…” You think back – your last memory was asking to be relieved of your duties. How in the nine realms did you wind up here?

“The palace can be a bit overwhelming,” he says, a touch impatiently. “Perhaps you should find your way back to the servant’s quarters and get some rest.”

“Yes, of course Your Highness.” You step back, turning as gracefully as you can manage when the prince stops you.

“Wait, girl. You’ve dropped something.”

He holds his hand out to you, a man’s leather glove draped over his palm.

You shake your head. “That isn’t mine.”

“I see,” he says. He stares at the glove for a long moment before raising it to his nose, closing his eyes and inhaling in a manner so suggestive it makes your stomach clench. “Well then, I guess I’ll just keep it all to myself. Off you go.”

You nod quickly, nearly tripping over your feet as you turn and hurry away down the corridor, his stare prickling your skin until you turn the corner and are out of his sight.

 


End file.
